


Artist's Block

by addy



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: College, Fluff, Love, M/M, art college au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addy/pseuds/addy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan, a painting major at a well known art college (he won't tell you where), can't find inspiration anymore, no matter where he looks. The distractions around him sure as hell don't help. Maybe he just needed something...or someone...to get his spark back, and get rid of his terrible artist's block. Art College AU. First person, Ryan's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Inspiration?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first Ryden, so please bare with me! I decided to to an Art College AU, since I am in art school myself. It made writing it a heck of a lot easier. :)
> 
> It's PG-13 for language.
> 
> I really hope you like it!

The way a brush moves across the canvas…it’s almost like you’re painting a symphony of color, conducting it to do your bidding; to create the drawing that eventually will be the end product. Will it guarantee fame? No. Will it guarantee money? No. You have to be the one to conduct it properly, or else you’ll create something that requires a trip to the trash bin and a clean canvas.

The blues, greens, yellows, oranges, and reds… those aren’t even all of the colors possible, I was just giving an example; they all play a part in the creation, if using color. If you’re using charcoal, then the blacks, the different shades of grey; how you blend, shade; what are you creating? You have to constantly remind yourself, so you don’t let your brain wander. For some artists, it can work out and create something brilliant. For most, the brain wandering can mess up the canvas, turning something that could have been beautiful into a trip to the trash bin and a clean canvas…again.

What artists dread the most is the creative block; artist’s block. It sucks. It’s like being immersed into your own brain, left to rot in a cage, entrapped in complete darkness; only until the light bulb turns on miraculously and the cage opens again. Who knows how long you would be trapped inside for?

I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry. I’m passionate about art, and I’ll go on a fucking tangent if no one stops me. Probably why I barely have any friends. I don't want your sympathy, just stating a fact.

As you can probably guess by now, I’m a student, a painting major, third year, at a well-known art college. I’m not going to tell you where. You could be a stalker or something; and I’m not one to give out personal information to anyone anyway.

It’s a great college, though, that much I can tell you. The campus is beautiful, located in the forest, almost in the middle of nowhere. A few dirt roads here and there.

We do have a couple of restaurants and a coffee shop on campus, which is nice, but other than that, there is barely anything to do, unless you had a car and were willing to drive thirty minutes to any form of civilization.  
The dorms and classrooms are fairly close to each other. The buildings are made from a grayish, whitish, dotted, strong marble or concrete. The students, myself included, can't figure out exactly what they were made of. My educated guess is that it's a form of marble, since I've worked with marble before in a sculpture class freshman year. All I know is that the building were damn gorgeous; a marvel to watch when you aren't doing anything, which is rare.

Art school isn't fucking easy, let's get that straight. We don't just sit there and draw lazy ass stick figures and call it art. We work for it, more hours than most liberal arts schools. Our curriculum is tedious, requiring us to take art classes and liberal arts classes. Sometimes students are up for a week on end, trying to finish a project, drinking nothing but coffee and energy drinks. However, we do have Fridays off every week. Don't think it's a vacation. Friday's are referred to as "work day", which barely any of the students utilize, and take it as an extended weekend to party and fuck around until Sunday. That's not particularly a smart move, since the projects we have to produce need to be industry standard and professional. When I go to class, I feel like wanting to punch every student in the fucking face who tries to say that something that looks like it was drawn by a two year old and spit on is considered art. What pisses me off more is when they explain that it's abstract and represents 'human turmoil and societies issues'. I call bullshit. Complete and total bullshit. I have no pity for procrastinators; the professors don't either. They know when a student is slacking. They get a glint in their eyes, pursed lips, and their foot starts to tap. I only know this because I never pay attention to the other students. They're no where near as interesting. Our professors are living, breathing, works of art. Brilliant, intense, incredibly eccentric, maybe even plain crazy, but you'd have to be to want to study art for a living. It's almost like it's a requirement. I was surprised not to see that on the college application. Are you insane? Check yes or yes.

Every morning I get to wake up to nearly complete silence. I wake up at 6 am to get a head start on my work, so that’s mostly why. By get ahead in my work I mean, enjoy the silence of the campus while it lasts. Once the day starts, all hell breaks lose. I still can’t fathom people’s actions sometimes. I wanted to come here to get away from the hectic scene at other colleges. While on my college search senior year of High School, it didn’t occur to me that no matter where I go, no matter where I went; I could have gone to a college in fucking Alaska; there will always be douchebags, sluts, jocks, preps; the whole social spectrum. College is basically high school, except there’s more freedom, less moral guidance, and a hell of a lot more noise.

Waking up at 6 am had its perks. As I said, it’s almost completely quiet, with maybe a couple of cars passing that I could barely hear. I kept my window open, sitting on the edge of my bed, staring out into the forest, searching for that inspiration that wouldn’t come. Artist's block is a fucking bitch. I can't take this crap. Sighing, I rested my head on the window sill, watching the outside start to wake up, my eyes intent on finding something, anything, that will spark my interest. My canvas has been sitting on my personal easel for three days now, only a couple of marks made by my HB pencil. I kept changing my mind; that's probably why it's blank. This painting was due tomorrow. Now, I wouldn't be making a deal about it if it was just another assignment. I can do that. They have rules, guidelines. This was my final. The end of Junior year was crucial. No one thinks it is, but you have to get a certain grade, or you won't get into the highly advanced classes. I need to get into those so I'm guaranteed a job after graduation, which is what those classes entail. Why didn't the assignment have some sort of guidelines? Yes, I get it, it's art school where you can create and find your inner soul and crap like that; don't get me wrong I believe in it to a point, but I need structure. I thought about maybe taking up my writing again, since I haven't in a while. Maybe I could write something that'll make the painter side of my brain wake up and unlock my cage. I looked over at my bookcase and noticed my small, worn down journal full of hopeless poems that made no sense I wrote in High School during my "I hate society and everything about everyone" phase. I walked over slowly, picking it up, thumbing through the pages. Death. Darkness. Despair. Dad. Shit. I slapped my head, a little too hard, wincing at my own strength. I decided to move away from my snoring roommate, trying not to make anymore noise, and put the journal on my lap, a pen in hand (artist's always have some sort of writing utensil on them. Seriously. We're like a walking art supply store.)

I saw the blank page mocking me. My pen wouldn't move. When I realized that I had writer's block, I cursed under my breath and chucked my journal onto my bed, running my hands through my hair in frustration. Turning back to the window, readjusting myself so that my head rested on the windowsill, I watched the outside again, head heavy, eyes tired.

The trees rustled slightly with the cool October wind; the birds outside started to sing a melody, which started to oddly sound like a song I heard recently on the radio. My mind was playing tricks on me. The cool wind entered the room, sending shivers down my spine; but still no ideas. Damnit. All of the ideas I had at the moment were incredibly morbid from my old journal or just plain ridiculous. Maybe I could just paint a picture of a skull and say that it personifies the death to all humans because of the stock market or some shit. I chuckled to myself, knowing that at this point I have probably lost my mind. I shifted slightly, trying not to stare into the rising sun in the horizon; still nothing. The sun is supposed to perk up a ideas, since it's so "breathtaking"; I got shit from the damn sunrise. Today was going to suck.

I heard a rustle of sheets come from the bed across from mine. Closing the window, I tip toed quietly back to my bed and crawled in, putting my arms over my face, covering my eyes. After a couple of minutes, I glanced over to the other side of the room. My roommate, Spencer, who, other than being my roommate, is my best friend, and a ridiculously talented sculptor. Give him an idea, or just let him go; he could create anything from a life size, extremely realistic, human being to a completely abstract masterpiece. He's self taught too, which blows my mind.

Spencer doesn’t care how early I wake up. He’s used to the chill that enters the room from the window, so I don’t have to worry about disturbing him anymore. It was hard at first, but Spencer's a nice guy all around. In the beginning he would mumble that it was too early and that the cold felt like little needles pricking at this skin, but after a while, he just created a tent for himself from his comforter. He shifts in his bed all of time, regardless. Probably dreaming of his ex-girlfriend again. Don’t ask.

“Ryan.” Spencer’s whisper filled the room; I was surprised, and kind of impressed. He usually doesn’t start speaking until at least 9. I bring my arms down away from my eyes, turn my head from my pillow, and was greeted by Spencer, smiling sleepily at me. I can’t tell if he’s asleep still, but I'll answer him anyway.

“Yeah?” I reply, biting my lip. It’s a force of habit.

Spencer shifted again, sitting up. His hair looked ridiculous. It was sticking up every which way, making him look like he'd just been electrocuted. I smirked, covering it with my hand, trying really hard not to laugh.

“Shut up,” Spencer stated, groggy, still waking up, “What time is it, man?”

I shot a look over to the blinking alarm clock.

“It’s 6:30, Spence. You should go back to sleep.” I sighed, watching Spencer intently.

“I had another bad dream,” Spencer groaned, his voice borderline childlike. He rubbed his eyes, yawning wide.

I smiled, yawning too, shaking my head. "You've got to get her out of your mind, Spence." He looked at me incredulously, his head tilted.

"She's like....she's a demon, that's bent on haunting me until the end of time. I'm serious!" He saw me smiling wide, as tired as I was. Halfway through a yawn, I felt something smack against my face. I inhaled, smelling Spencer's strong cologne.

"Fuck you," I said, throwing the pillow back at him, missing, nocking over Spencer's lamp with a CRASH. He looked at me, his eyes wide. He was awake now.

"Did you just break my lamp?" Spencer asked, his smile wicked.

"Your lamp was in the way of the pillow. Try to keep it on a leash," I added sarcastically.

"Haha, wow Ryan. You should be a comedian, seriously. You're hysterical."

"So I've been told. I mean, I have so many stories to tell. Particularly about the time you and you know who went down to the lake that one time and you totally..." In a flash, Spencer jumped out of his bed, ran over to mine, and tackled me, tickling every part of my body he could find that was exposed from my too small pajamas.

"Stop it damnit! Fucking stop--" My laughter started to get louder and louder as I tried to push Spencer off of me. "Get off me bitch, you weigh a ton!" No matter how much this day was going to suck, Spencer made it a tiny bit better.

Spencer stopped, his mouth dropped open, pretending to act offended. "Ryan Ross, was that a fat joke? Why I never." Whipping what hair he had back, he flipped me off, and strutted back to his bed, crawling back under his tent.

"Oh come on Spence, I didn't mean it." I could see Spencer's head peak out at me, still in his act.

"Really?"

"Yes really."

"Oh thank god. I thought for a minute there that you were calling me fat. I was about ready to jump out the window."

"I don't know why you aren't a performing arts major, Spence. You're good at acting like a drama queen."

Spencer's face twisted into his wicked smile again.

"Who says I was acting?"

I shook my head in disbelief. Damn I love this kid.

Spencer's only a year younger than I am, but it really doesn't matter. He is my best friend...my only friend really. He is the only one who knows how to put up with me. I can be a stubborn, pretentious ass who hates everyone, but in the end, I know that Spencer always has my back. We've known each other since we were kids. We planned on going through every aspect of school together. It was fate that we both wanted to do art for a living, even though our majors are different. At least we're at the same college. I can't live without him, and I'm pretty certain he couldn't live without me, as egotistical as it sounds.

"Hey." Spencer woke me up from my nostalgia. He was putting on his running pants and shirt, getting a bottle of water ready. "Since I'm awake too, why don't we go for a run, huh?"

"Sure," I reply, smiling. It would be nice to run with someone else for a change. I didn't feel like being alone with my thoughts today. They were empty anyway. Walking over to my dresser, I throw on whatever baggy shirt I could find with my sport shorts I wear to yoga once in a while. Knock it all you want, but yoga is damn helpful for relaxing. "Ready." Spencer smiled warmly at me and opened the door, making sure that we both had a key. You can never be too careful. Here you get fined for getting locked out after one time. We've already had it happen, so next time, there goes 30 bucks out of both of our pockets.

The crisp fall air shattered whatever was left of my groggy, just-woke-up feeling. It pounded against my cheeks, frosting over my eyelids. I could see my breath in front of me in a fog. Every time I would breathe out, I would be temporarily blinded. I had to stay close to Spencer so I wouldn't fall into the lake near the trail. We ran for a good 20 minutes before taking a break on a worn out bench. It seemed sturdy enough to support the both of us. I gulped my water down, shivering at the coldness of the water and the briskness around me, nipping at my skin.

"I can't think of anything." That was my voice. I realized that I was thinking aloud. I turned to Spencer, smiling apologetically. He knows that I do that sometimes.

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right place," Spencer offered, swallowing his water like it was his last drink.

I put my hands on my temples, rubbing them, frustrated. "I looked out the window at the fucking sunrise. I read poetry. I even looked in my crap-journal for something, anything. I tried to write, but then I got damn writer's block on top of it. I should just drop out and make a living drawing caricatures of tourists in Key West."

Spencer laughed, taking another drink. He punched my arm playfully. His face contorted into serious Spencer, which I rarely saw. "Listen, Ryan. You're talented, okay? You're just in a funk. It happens to all of the great artists," He paused, taking a breath, holding onto his chest. He swallowed, and continued, "Why don't you go to the studio? You always seem to do okay there. Maybe something will happen."

I groaned thinking about the studio. It's always occupied by the slacker students who waited until last minute, or by the students who think it's social hour to talk about their explicit sex lives. When it was deserted, it was a great place to go. However, it's rare. I shrugged. "What the hell. I'll go after class."

"Atta boy!" Spencer slapped me on the back. "Okay, race you to The Caf. Last person there has to buy coffee!" I grinned, nodding my head, accepting the challenge. We always had to have some sort of competition. It keeps the friendship interesting; more than it already was.

******

"I finally beat you!"

The Caf had only a couple students milling about, since it was still early. I welcomed the warmth of the heater on my skin. We walked up to the counter, my wallet feeling slightly lighter. I smiled, defeated, handing the nice woman behind the counter the money for the coffee.

"Yes you did. Do you want a medal?" I took a sip of the warm drink, my whole body spazzing at the sudden warmth. We took a seat near the window, just so we could people watch. Another hobby of ours.

"I do in fact. I think it should read, "Congrats to Spencer, who is the most awesome runner in all of the land. Better than Ryan Ross." He motioned the letters in the air, dramatizing it.

"I don't think that'd fit," I reply, nearly choking on my coffee.

"It could. I would pay extra. Seriously." Spencer took a sip from his black coffee. I shuddered at the thought. I always put cream and a ton of sugar in mine. I had a major sweet tooth. "Hey, slow down, it's hot coffee. It's not meant to be chugged."

I smiled, the top of my mouth burnt, my tongue thankful. I set my coffee down, starting out the window. The campus was starting to wake up. Guys in shorts and short sleeves were running the trail Spencer and I were just on. A couple of them almost fell into the lake while trying to check out a couple of girls who were walking along with their textbooks and portfolios. Their hair and make-up were overdone, their clothing very revealing for the fall. It's not my business how other people dress, it just fascinates me how people can go out of the dorm and think that what they have on is actually flattering.

"Hey, check him out." Spencer pointed to an average height boy with dark hair. His eyes were a dark brown, his lips and nose were an artists dream; full and distinct. His body was slender, a perfect figure. His ass was well...a girl's ass. It looked like he was wearing girl's jeans. I couldn't stop starting at him, even while he was fumbling with the ten million things he was holding. He had a paintbrush between his teeth, two toolboxes and a portfolio; his face had splashes of yellow and red acrylic. As...aesthetically pleasing as he was, he was a mess. He kept dropping something, whether it was his toolbox or his paintbrushes. His portfolio was strapped to his back and kept smacking him on the head when he'd bend down. I could almost hear him cursing under his breath. What particularly caught my eye was a tattoo on his arm of a piano and beautiful flowers adorned the outside of it. Damnit. What was this feeling?... Spencer snapped his fingers in front of my face, lurching me into sudden embarrassment, my cheeks red.

"Dude. I was trying to talk to you this whole time. What the hell?" He gave me a scorching look. Thank god he didn't notice me blushing. After a couple seconds, Spencer went back to what he was saying. "That guy is a mess."

"Yeah," I reply, prying my eyes away from the boy, "He has to be a freshman."

Spencer took another sip of his disgusting coffee and shook his head, smacking his lips.

"Nah, he's a sophomore. He's in my life drawing class."

"How? I thought you couldn't take that until junior year?"

Spencer shrugged his shoulders. "Welp, apparently he has a shit-ton of credits from a community college or something so he's technically a Junior."

"Oh, That's cool, I guess." I took a look at my watch, realizing I had a half hour before class.

"Gotta go, Spence. Got a critique for the first half of the finals in class today." Spencer nodded, getting up from the chair. He walked over with Ryan to the trashcan, throwing away the empty cup. They both opened the doors with a CLANG, making sure everyone knew that they were leaving. Spencer turned Ryan around, and put both of his hands on Ryan's shoulders.

"Just don't burn the other students too bad this time. We don't want one of them to cry again."

"She was being a wuss. You've got to learn how to take a crit--"

"Ryan."

I sighed. "Fine. I won't make another kid cry. Okay?"

"Good." Spencer nudged my arm. "Bonne chance!"

Whatever the hell that meant. I waved at him, my smile subsiding as Spencer moved further and further away. My brain had attached itself to a new subject...who was that boy? And why do I have a sudden urge to want to know?


	2. A Mess

"It looks like someone threw up on a canvas." I folded my arms, biting my lip. Professor Reed stared at me, knowing better than to stop me, even if the student looked like he was about to cry. What Spencer doesn't know wont hurt him.

"There's no sense of depth. The line you used is hard to understand; I can barely tell if it's a contour or just a scribble. The colors clash. Are you sure you took color theory?" I paused, knowing better then to continue, but I do anyway. "It's just horrendous a piece of shit. Is this a painting of a farmland or the party you went to last night?" The entire room gasped, some of the students' mouths were agape, in awe of what I just said. The student cried out, putting his head on his girlfriend's shoulders. What a wuss. Professor Reed nodded at me, which meant I was going to be talked to. Again. After class. It's become customary.

Once the student's left, all of their hopes crushed by my comments I gather, I grabbed my bag from my assigned drafting table and stepped in front of the professor's desk, waiting for the speech I always get.

"Ryan," He started, his expression looked tired. "You cussed this time."

"I know." I rolled my eyes. I usually have respect for my teachers, but I have this speech memorized. "I need to stop digging at the other student's work and making snide comments, I get it, I've heard it before."

Professor Reed just shook his head, "I'm considering putting duct tape over your mouth Ryan. You can't seem to make a nice comment." He paused, sighing heavily, "It's critique, I understand. We're supposed to humble the student, not crush their creative spark! You want to critique it enough so that they'll try harder, not so that they'll not want to try at all." He pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose, his eyes twitching. "You also don't let the other student's speak. I love your enthusiasm, but can't you let the other student's participate?" I stood there, trying let the words sink in. I merely nodded my head, unsure of what to say. "You can go. Just, think about saying something nice tomorrow, okay? Remember you're presenting. Watch out, they might retaliate." He gave me a small smile and waved his hand, dismissing me. I strained to smile back and walked out of the door, my bag feeling heavier than it did before.

The student's need to grow a fucking backbone, I thought to myself. Gritting my teeth, I remembered that I was going to the studio tonight. I tilted my head back, almost wanting to scream. Shaking it off, I went up to my room. Spencer wasn't there, which was strange, since he's usually under his tent looking up ideas for his next sculpture. He's probably in the sculpture building, being the overachiever that he is.

I picked up what I needed, which included paints, paint brushes, my portfolio, and my HB pencils. Throwing my messenger bag around my shoulder again, I checked it for my keys, and went out the door, the cold blasting itself against me suddenly. I shivered momentarily, my lips becoming instantaneously dry. Licking them, I managed to moisten the cracks in my lips.

*****

The walk to the studio wasn't that bad. Most of the students had gone indoors. Primarily for class. The others went into The Caf to drink coffee for five hours because they were too lazy to walk into the cold. It's not like the rain. It won't just pass. Idiots.

The studio was warm and inviting. It had easels spread throughout, each one a different size, height, and even color. The walls were slashed with colors, but not excessively. Basically, the studio is a painting within itself, which made it more comfortable for the students. I set my eyes on a pinkish easel in the corner and headed in that direction, trying to make my way through the maze of easels, pushing against a nearby green one. I checked my shirt to make sure I didn't get any paint on it. It was particularly smart on my part to wear one of my better shirts to paint in. Grabbing a smock from the hook on the back of the studio's main door, I tied it around my torso, and felt foolish. I hate these smocks. I felt like a grandma.

I scanned the room, taking in my surroundings further. The studio was surprisingly empty...Except for one student in the corner. I could only make out very dark hair bobbing up and down. He seemed really into what he was painting. I shrugged and chose an easel on the other side of the room. Setting everything up was easy. I put the paints in their respective places. I had to strap the canvas to the easel, making sure everything was at the right height. Taking a pencil, I jammed it in my mouth, thinking, using my tongue to move it up and down.

I sat there for a good 15 minutes, staring from the canvas to the boy in the corner. He was still bobbing up and down. I almost got up from my stool to see what he could possibly be doing. I decided against it.

Sitting in front of the canvas...the damn blank canvas, was hell. The studio was not helping. The most help it was being was helping me sleep. I start to doze off when I felt something warm on my shoulder. It was a hand. I looked up and saw the boy who was bobbing his head. It was him. From this morning. The same guy. My eyes widened in realization. I was startled and fell off my stool right on my ass. Shit. I could hear a deep laugh come from the boy as he bent down and offered his hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He smiled wide at me, his teeth perfect, white as snow. I gulped, trying to hide my impending blush that started to spread across my cheeks.

"You're fine. My fault. I started to doze off." My answers were short and shaky. I could barely talk to him. Why? Maybe it was because he looked like he walked right out of a masterpiece panting.

"Whatcha paintin'?" He asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"I don't know. I don't have any inspiration." The boy nodded his head, understanding.

"That damn artist's block huh? It happens to the best of us."

I smiled small, "Haha I guess so." I tucked my curly hair behind my ear, trying to focus on the blank nothing in front of me instead of the beautiful something next to me. He kept standing there, as if I was supposed to continue the conversation.

"Uh, can I help you?" I asked, trying not to sound rude, but he was just standing there, watching me. His eyes glistened with wonder. He was an interesting guy, I'll give him that. A little...odd, childlike. But it was endearing, in a sense.

"Brendon." His lips formed the words before I could even ask. "My name is Brendon. Last name Urie. So together it makes..."

"Brendon Urie. Got it." He looked at me, his eyes asking for my name. I don't usually give it out to random strangers, but since Brendon...gave me his name, I guess I could tell him mine. "I'm Ryan."

"Ryan what?"

"Why do you need to know?" Brendon looked at me, his smile faded slightly.

"No reason. I'll leave you alone now." Brendon gave me one last smile, less wide than the first one, and went back to his canvas, bobbing his head again. I directed my eyes back to the canvas, wondering what the hell just happened. My chest was on fire, my brain was mush. There's no way I could finish this painting, unless I pulled one out of my ass, but that would be plagiarizing my entire class. Smirking to myself, I started to draw a couple scratches here and there; nothing was coming to me. Every now and then I would watch Brendon sway; watch him pretend to play the drums and guitar with his paint brushes, and lip sync. It was like he was having a party in that corner. I looked around me, hoping that no one could see and started to draw. Every inch of Brendon, from his plump lips to his wide, deer like eyes. His nose was easy to draw, so full. Brendon's jawline, perfect, incredible. My hands moved at the speed of light, trying to capture Brendon before he could catch on that he was being drawn. The gesture was done in a couple of minutes. I smiled at my work, feeling proud of myself.

"That's really good."

I had to hold onto the sides of my stool to keep from falling. Crap.

"I--uh---I guess I should of---"

"Hey," Brendon stepped closer. A little too close. I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. "It's fine. I'm flattered, actually. You're amazing at capturing gestures."

I smiled, turning my head so that it was close to his. There wasn't enough space between us to make this comfortable. "Thank you." I breathe, trying really hard not to move.

'Welcome." He moved abruptly, the warmth suddenly gone. My stomach was in knots, fluttering. I turned back to my soon to be painting and began filling in the gesture with acrylic, paying attention to every stroke. I started to hear a voice in my head. Before coming to the conclusion that I was finally going mad, I realized that someone was playing music. I pricked my ears, trying to figure out where it was coming from. I moved my eyes over to Brendon, who was singing softly to one of my favorite songs. Good to know he had a great taste in music. I glanced back at my painting, smiling wide. He was a damn good singer. Painting along to Brendon's voice, I was able to finish my final in 2 hours; record timing; thankful that Brendon stayed in the studio with me, even if we were on opposite sides of the room. I began to pack up, still smiling like an idiot. Whoever this Brendon kid was, he...I couldn't even describe it. Brendon stopped singing and looked up. He smiled at me, turning my face crimson. The screech of his chair shot up my nerves, making me shake for a second.

"Sorry. Those damn chairs are always so fucking loud." I nodded in agreement, almost done packing up the paints.

"Hey can I see your painting?" Brendon asked innocently. I bit my lip, turning the canvas around so that he could see. "Wow, holy crap, wow. No wonder you're here! That's amazing."

"Thanks," I responded quickly, my mouth moving on it's own, "You are too." I clap my hand to my mouth, eyes widening. What the fuck did I just say. "Gotta go." I ran out of there faster than I thought possible, even with my portfolio strapped to my back, messenger bag hugging my thigh, and my toolbox clanking along.

"HEY." I stopped abruptly in my tracks. I could see Brendon running towards me, his face flushed by the time he reached me.

"What." My voice was sharp.

"You forgot something." Brendon handed me the painting, his hand brushing mine for a second. I didn't know if it was intentional or not, but...I suddenly feel like I want to hold it. Feel the warmth in its entirety.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He started to walk away from me, his head hanging low. He almost looked defeated.

"HEY." I screamed back at him. Brendon turned around, his eyes staring right into mine.

"It's Ross. Ryan. My last name is Ross, So that makes..."

"Ryan Ross." He smiled wide, knowing that I was copying his former tactic.

"Right. And well, I'm sort of thirsty. And cold." Brendon's eyes sparked again. He moved forward so that we didn't have to shout.

"I sort of am too," Brendon replied.

"I mean, if you want, we could maybe get a coffee? It's on me, since you let me draw you." Brendon watched me thoughtfully. After a couple of seconds, he answered, his voice confident.

"Okay. Sure! You should probably drop your stuff off first though. Might be a bitch trying to drink coffee with a portfolio basically strangling you."

"Sounds like a plan." I began to walk towards my dorm, Brendon following me. I wasn't going to let him stand out in the cold. He could have gone to The Caf and waited, but I was too tired to instruct him. Just let him do whatever the hell he wants, I thought to myself. We're just getting coffee. As new friends.

Friends. Friend. That word sounded foreign to my tongue.

Climbing up the stairs, Brendon basically glued to my side, I reached my room, hearing muffled crashes and bangs; including Spencer cursing profusely. I smiled apologetically at Brendon before opening the door.

"Spencer. Cool it will you?"

Spencer looked up at me, throwing his controller to the other end of the room. "It's those damn bananas," He mumbled under his breath. Sitting up, Spencer blinked, realizing that there was another body in the room. "Hey uh..."

"Brendon."

"Right. You have Murphy with me, right?"

Brendon nodded in agreement, his smile wide. Does he ever stop smiling? "Yeah. Life drawing."

"Ah ha. Sorry man, I'm not good at names."

"It's okay! I suck at names too. The only names I remember are the ones I have to know for Art History." Brendon chuckled, his eyelashes fluttering. Damnit. "Hey, was that Mario Kart? I fucking love that game." Spencer's eyes brightened at the thought of having someone real to play with. He usually plays with other players over the wireless thing I don't care to know about. I wont play it, I refuse. Mostly because I know that I suck. I can paint a still life but can barely play a video game.

"Yeah. The other people I play with are bastards. They cheat, I swear." Spencer went to grab the controller from the other end of the room, it was surprisingly still in tact.

"Mind if I play? Just for a couple minutes." Brendon looked at me, his lip pouting. God fucking damnit.

"It's not like I'm your mom or some shit Brendon. Go ahead." I added a small laugh helping Brendon indicate that I wasn't mad at him.

To put it simply, Brendon kicked Spencer's ass. Throwing the controller again. Spencer stormed off into his tent, brooding over the fact that Brendon was a cheater too. He moved abruptly under the sheets until he was in a comfortable position.

"I didn't mean to make him angry," Brendon said sheepishly, rising from the floor.

"It's fine. He just get really competitive and is a fucking sore loser." Spencer's arm emerged from the tent, his hand flipping me off. I grabbed a pillow off of my bed and chucked it at him, hitting his hand. "I hate you," Spencer mumbled, grabbing the pillow. "I'm keeping this." I smirked, knowing at this point to leave Spencer alone.

"Ready for coffee now?" I jumped, forgetting Brendon was there for a second. He was too close to me again. I could smell him...it was strong, but at the same time inviting...comforting almost. Shaking those weird and borderline creepy thoughts out of my head, I put down the last of my things, taking the portfolio off of my back. "Yeah," I replied, my voice quiet.

"Okay, cool." He smiled at me again, taking my hand instinctively. For some reason, I let him. Friends do that right? Hold each others hand? I think I've held Spencer's hand once, but that was during a slasher horror film and I was squeezing his hand to keep from getting sick.

We walked in silence to The Caf, the campus settling down from a day of artistic mayhem. The sky was clear, the stars bright. There was no moon, which created more of a creepy feeling, but I loved it. The cool October wind pinched at our noses, mine becoming pinker by the second. I looked at Brendon, who as I studied, was a bit shorter than me. His expression blank, but his eyes told a different story. They were sparkling, smiling.

"These stars are the reason why I'm here." Brendon said suddenly.

"...what?" Confused, I tilted my head, trying to understand, my hand still attached to his. Brendon stopped walking. We were at the door of The Caf.

"I'll tell you later," Brendon smirked mischievously. Letting go of my hand, I almost wanted to protest. I didn't speak, silently slipping into The Caf. Brendon told me to take a seat. "I got this." My mouth was open, ready to tell him that I was supposed to pay, but I bit my lip nervously, holding ono my thoughts. Brendon jolted back, skipping almost, with two coffee's in hand. He handed mine to me, and sat down, one of his legs crossed on the top of his thigh. His foot began to shake. It wasn't too distracting. I guess it was one of his nervous ticks. I sighed and took a sip of my coffee; cream and a ton of sugar.

"How did..."

Brendon shrugged his shoulders. "I kind of had a feeling." I looked at him, incredulous. I scanned The Caf, checking to see who was working. Ah ha. Nancy. She knows my order like the back of her hand. I smirked at Brendon, deciding to pretend that I didn't know how he could have possibly known my order.

"It's like you're psychic or something haha," I laughed nervously, and took a sip of the hot coffee, burning my tongue again. I smacked my lips to try to get the taste out of my mouth.

"I might be. You never know! Let me guess..." He held his arm to his head, imitating a highly dramatic version of a shaman or something. "You...like to paint! Still lives mostly." I looked at him, shaking my head in disbelief. What a dork. "And your favorite color is... burgundy." I sputtered, my coffee dripping down my chin. He smiled wide. "I'm guessing that I was right, huh?"

"Lucky guess." I had to wipe my chin with a napkin, trying to get the coffee off of my face and collar.

"I'm just that awesome." I nodded in agreement, my face turning red again. Silence ensued between the both of us. I had no idea how to keep the conversation going. I always sucked at it. After a few minutes, however, Brendon slammed his hand on the table, rubbing his eyes. He suddenly looked worn out, like he had been thinking too hard.

"Look. Can I tell you something? Will you promise not to get creeped out? Well, I mean, if you do, I get it, but, seriously." Brendon's words were jumbled.

"Okay."

Brendon's eyes widened, almost as if he was expecting me to say no to whatever he was attempting to say to me.

"I've kind of been watching you. Not in a creepy way, if you take it that way. But..." He sighed deeply, making himself continue, "I think you're really talented and I've kind of sort of had a...uh..."

My cheeks were blazing hot at the point. What...in the hell?

"Never mind. Never mind. I uh gotta go. Thanks for uh yeah." Brendon licked his lips, standing up from the chair, scraping it against the tile floor. I was speechless, watching him run into the door. He took one last glance at me, then opened the door, galavanting into the chill air. I sat for a good 10 minutes before realizing what Brendon was trying to say.

I think he has a crush on me.

Shit.

The worst part of it all?

I think I have a crush on him too.

I punched my head, thinking, how in god's name I could have a crush on someone that I just met? Obviously Brendon has known me longer than I have known him if he was watching me when I painted.

This was crazy. Insane....My heart pounded as I walked out of the door up to my dorm. Fumbling the keys, I stepped into a dark room. Spencer was asleep, his snoring ringing at my eardrums. Without bothering to change, I landed on my bed with a THUMP, my head pounding. My hand was rested at my side, feeling empty.

I missed his hand.


	3. The Stars

"Ryan. RYAN." I could hear Spencer's voice shouting at me, my body was being shaken. I wrestled my eyes open to view a rather distressed looking Spencer hovering over me.

"What the hell, Spence," I asked, my voice groggy.

"The power went out last night."

That's all it took. I shot out of my bed, landing on the hard floor. "Shit shit shit shit." I cursed to myself, realizing that I was still in my clothes. I was even still wearing my damn jacket. Unzipping it quickly, I scurried around the room, looking for cleaner clothes to put on. "How did the power go out? We didn't have a storm..." Spencer raised his hand to scratch the back of his head, his expression had guilt written all over it.

"I kind of sort of maybe short circuited the electricity in our room."

"I'm not even going to ask how, Spencer." He sighed, taking a deep breath.

"You probably wouldn't want to know." I almost fell putting my pants on.

"What time is it then?"

"I don't know. All I know is that the sun is out, and it's just another lovely day...." I chucked the nearest thing I could find at him. Unlucky that it was one of my journals. It hit Spencer square in the forehead.

"OUCH!" Spencer's mouth dropped, his hand reacted by rubbing the small bump forming on his forehead. "Ryan, calm the fuck down will you?"

"I can't calm down," I swallowed, "I can't fucking calm down, you knew that I had a final due today! Just.." I waved my hand, dismissing the conversation. Picking up what I needed for class, I stormed out of the room, blocking out Spencer's sorry's and calm down's with loud humming.

I strutted across campus, my portfolio hanging around my neck instead of placed on my back. The canvas stayed between my arm and torso. I sure as hell hoped that it wasn't ruined. I was going to kill Spencer. I'm ready to. Every step, I crunched on a dead leaf, the sounded reverberating off of my eardrums, making everything seem louder and more ominous. The painting building felt so far away, when in reality, it's only a five minute walk from my dorm. I showed my ID to the security guard behind the desk who glanced at it quickly, knowing that I was a student anyway by my portfolio and the dark circles under my eyes.

Walking into the classroom, my eyes widened at the sight of my full class. I am definitely killing Spencer now. It's going to be a slow and painful death, including my weapon of choice, his precious video game controller. I must have been staring for quite some time. Professor Reed looked at me, his eyes full of disappointment.

"Mr. Ross, thank you for joining us." The students chuckled amongst their cliques. I really don't give a damn what they think, but it was embarrassing being late. Especially on a day of critique...for your final.

"Sorry sir. Power went out in my room." Professor Reed raised an eyebrow in interest, his lips looked like they wanted to say something, but hesitated. He cleared his throat, moving his attention back to a painting that the student called "Inner Horse." I'm serious, this whole industry is going down the drain. "James, your painting is...interesting. I suggest trying to work more on the composition than the actual title of the piece. It would save you a lot more time and creative energy." James' ears turned pink, his smile turned into an uncomfortable looking frown. "You can take it down now. Be careful, don't damage the piece." While James brought down his so called horse painting, the professor licked his finger, switching the pages on the clipboard. "Ryan, you're up."

I rested my portfolio on the draft table closest to me and dragged the painting to the board, tacking it around the edges. I stepped back, revealing my gesture painting of Brendon. My face flushed just thinking about how he swayed, his brown eyes focused, his lips curled into the perfect shape...coffee...a close confession...hand holding...."Ryan...RYAN." Professor Reed snapped at me, bringing me out of my reverie. "Care to explain it before we discuss?" I nodded my head, looking at each student, all of whom I despised.

"It's a gesture of a friend of mine. I wanted to capture his raw movements, since he was creating music with the air almost..."

"Hey Ross! Is that your boyfriend, or what?" My face flushed, but I kept going. Professor Reed shot a warning look in the direction of the voice. He tilted his head slightly, indicating I should continue.

"Um. Okay. Well, as I was saying, it was interesting seeing him use his paintbrushes as drums. I added stronger contour lines to describe the minuscule stillness of the lower part of his body. I wanted to draw something raw, something real. Something that was happening right in front of my eyes." I finished, stepping further back, my arms crossed.

The worst thing about critiquing isn't the teacher's thoughts; it's the students. It becomes incredibly awkward if no on talks.

They all just stared at each other, then at me. No one spoke. I decided to speak up, since they were all being lazy asses who only care about themselves or are just too chicken to say anything.

"Listen. Nothing is going to hurt my feelings, all right? Just fu--- Just say whatever you think of it. If it's crap, tell me it's crap. I critique you on your work, it's your turn to do the same."

"You're critique isn't critique. You just insult people," a girl in the back piped in. She barely talked. The other students nodded in agreement.

"Your painting looks gay anyway. I mean, who draws another guy?" Dumbass one started to speak.

"Many artists, actually," I explained through gritted teeth, suddenly wanting to disappear.

"The lines are too noticeable. I thought this was a painting, not a charcoal drawing," another girl chimed in, pushing her bright red glasses up towards her eyes.

"I thought it would...."

"Ryan." The professor talked this time. The room hushed quickly. "In my opinion," Professor Reed slowly spoke as I took down my embarrassment, hurting my thumb with a tack. "I think it's some of your best work." My heart skipped a beat. The other students looked shocked, their eyes twitching. The guy who made the gay comment rubbed his head and looked down at the floor. "Good job." My face broke into a smile. I hid it from the other students. I'll have to thank the professor after class. The clock struck 10:30. "Class is dismissed. Have a great weekend, and work day tomorrow." The students shuffled about grabbing their belongings and finals, running out the door. Some still had a class next, but for most, it was the weekend. I stuck behind, waiting until they all left.

"Professor, I, um." He raised his hand.

"I told you that they would retaliate." I took a deep breath and sighed.

"I know."

"But-- you handled it well. I commend you on that."

"Thanks."

"Ryan, this piece..."

"What about it," I answer, cold.

"Hey. Watch it." The professor shot me a warning look. "I have to say that It's different than anything you have ever painted. I know said it was some of your best work, and I wasn't lying. However, I feel like you can do so much more with it."

I hung my head, my smile turned sour.

"I'm not putting you down. I know this is a final, and it's going against the 'professor finals handbook'" Professor Reed motioned quotations in the air, "...Ryan. You are talented. Incredibly talented. All I want to see is you succeeding in everything you do." Professor Reed took a breath, "I'm going to let you have the weekend to finish it."

My heart stopped.

"Are you serious? Sir, it's a final. I'll take whatever crap grade that you'll give me...."

The professor put his hand up, cutting me off.

"Ryan. I am your professor, and I am giving you permission to finish. Remember, I'm here to see that you succeed. I'm not here to destroy your hopes and dreams. You and I both know that you need this grade to get into the advanced classes next year."

"Sir..."

"You're dismissed."

I looked at the professor with wide eyes. I gave him a small, grateful smile, picked up my piece, and ran out the door.

**********

"So, he gave you the weekend to finish it?"

"Yeah, I just told you that."

Spencer apparently thought it was impossible for teachers to show 'mercy' on their students. We were sitting on a bench in the park, drinking our coffees. Mine tasted considerably bitter. I took a gulp, my throat screaming at me in protest.

"How the hell did you pull that off?"

"I don't know. He said that I have talent, and that I could do so much more with it." I finished my coffee, holding the empty cup tightly.

"Well, it's not a bad thing that you have an extension, right?"

"I guess not. I would have taken the grade, though."

"Lazy ass." Spencer grinned, taking another sip, smacking his lips. "You need the grade to get into the advanced classes, so take this as a gift. You did do your final the night before."

"True." Couldn't argue with that.

"And besides..." Spencer continued, his eyes boring into mine. "You'd get to be with Brendon more." This caught me off guard. My faced turned full on crimson.

"Wh-what the hell do you mean by that?!" Spencer's mouth curved into a smirk.

"You don't fool me for a second. We've been friends for a hell of a long time. I know when you have a crush on someone. And dude, this one? You are falling. Hard."

"F----fuck you Spencer. I do not have a crush on him." Blatant lie. "I just met the guy."

Spencer sighed deeply, his shoulders shrugged. "When he was in the room with us, you could barely take your eyes off of him. Don't think I didn't see the glances back and forth during our game play. You guys were seriously eye fucking." I bit my lip, my face blazing hot. I put my cold hand up to it, hoping that it would help subside my embarrassment. Nope. Spencer continued, "Listen, you've always had the knack for crushing on people you just met. Remember that one girl...What was her name...Kelly? Kelsey?" I shifted uncomfortably on the bench, the wood scraping into my thighs.

"Keltie."

"Ah ha. Didn't you ask her to marry you or some shit?"

"Shut the hell up Spencer, you're pissing me off." I growled, punching his arm, harder than I thought.

"Okay, okay. Sorry. Jesus, that hurt." Spencer rubbed his arm, wincing.

"I'm sorry, Spence, I didn't mean to..." I reached over, attempting to see really how much damage I caused. Spencer moved away from me, standing up.

"Look, Ryan, you can live in denial as long as you want, be my guest. But you know I'm right." I put on my poker face, not daring to look Spencer in the eye. "Good luck with your final." I could see Spencer turn abruptly out of the corner of my eyes. Life can be a bitch. I feel like he enjoys picking on me all the damn time. I sat on the bench alone, watching the passerby, thinking about what Spencer said, my final...and Brendon. Lying back, my head extending over the top of the bench, I looked up at the sky. The blue was beautiful, the clouds danced around the horizon creating different shapes. I swear I saw one in the shape of a paintbrush. The other one in the shape of the cheshire cat. My eyes started to feel heavy; I closed them, my head still over the top of the bench, my neck arched. I breathed in and out, taking in the cold air, feeling it swirl around my lungs.

Spencer.

Final.

Brendon.

******

"You'd get to be with Brendon more."

"You're falling. Hard."

I saw Brendon, his face smiling at me. He walked towards me slowly, every step taking my breath away, second by second. I could feel his breath upon my lips, his body was pressed close to mine. I want you, my body says. My heart was pounding. I want you, my heart echoes. Brendon was so close to me...I moved in, attempting to brush my lips against his....

Cold. It was fucking cold.

My whole body shivered violently. Realizing that I was dreaming, I struggled to open my eyes. It felt like they were shut together with ice. Finally, I got them open. I waited a couple seconds for my eyes to adjust.

"What the hell..." I looked around me. It was dark out. The street lamps were ablaze, lighting the side walk. I was alone. I breathed deeply, nearly choking on the frigid air around me. "Shit." I passed out, on the bench. I loved how nobody noticed. Oh wait. I don't have any friends. Except for Spencer, who was currently pissed at me for being 'in denial'. Right. I rubbed from my back down to my ass was so fucking sore. Good thing I didn't have class tomorrow. I just have to finish that final....

Groaning, I stood up from the bench, wrapping my scarf around my neck tighter. Deciding that it was one of those nights, I headed deeper into the woods, further and further away from the dorms. The sky was decked in stars, the bright balls of light dancing; there was still no moon. I loved the night time. There was something about it; it's serene. After a while, I wasn't looking where I was going. I tripped over something, which made me land right on my face. "Dammit." My lip started to bleed. I bit it, sucking up some of the blood. I looked for what made me trip. I didn't trip over something; I tripped over someone.

"Ughhh..." The figure moaned sleepily, shifting it's body around. That voice sounded oddly familiar. I couldn't put my finger on it. Biting my lip again, I tasted my blood again, cringing at the metallic taste. The figure, after a couple of minutes, tried to sit up. I couldn't see it's face.

"Here, let me help you..." I offered my hand. The figure took it, reluctantly at first, and stood up. Their legs shook violently before righting themselves.

"Thanks." My eyes widened at the voice. It was deep, attractive, but still a bit groggy. I know that voice...

"Brendon? Is that you?"

The figure stepped closer to me, their body close to mine. I could smell him again. That scent that...I shook my head. I was getting creepy again. Without a word, we stood there, for a good 20 minutes. Brendon wrapped his arms around me, and I followed suit. We stood there, holding each other, in the woods. It was probably below freezing, but in Brendon's arms, I was warm. I decided to speak, my voice slightly muffled on Brendon's chest.

"What the hell were you doing out here.?" Brendon's chin was rested on the top of my head, almost near my neck, since I had to crane it to rest on his chest. When he began to speak, I could feel his chin digging slightly into my scalp. I didn't complain.

"I was stargazing, and I fell asleep."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

We were silent again. I could hear his breathing. It was irregular, but at the same time calming.

"Do you do this often?"

"Yeah. Every Thursday. I never fall asleep though haha."

"Why?"

"No reason. I just love the stars."

"You're a dork." Brendon laughed again, his face moving closer to mine.

"Look, I'm sorry for barging out last night. I got nervous about what I was saying and...ugh sorry." Sighing, Brendon let go of me, and moved away a couple feet, like I suddenly had a contagious disease. I raised my eyebrow, interested in his sudden mood swings.

"Brendon, you're fine."

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking forward, and I hate that about myself..." I wanted to reach out, tell him that he was overreacting, but I resisted, watching him pace across the crunchy fall leaves.

"You weren't forward..." Brendon looked at me, his eyes piercing through mine. "Okay. Maybe a little. But I don't care." I walked up to him, hugging him tighter, lowering my head, and pressing my face into his thin jacket. "Stop apologizing." Brendon was shocked. His arms slowly wrapped around me again.

"My professor liked my final, by the way." I could feel Brendon smile.

"That's good."

"But... he wants me to expand on it. Said I could do better."

"Mhm." I looked up, returning to my original height. Our faces were close, too close. Damnit. Every time.

"I'll need you to do your drumming and singing again, if that's okay." My lip was mostly healed, but I decided to chew on it again anyway. I hated this habit.

"Fine with me." Brendon smiled at me, his teeth bright. I wanted to do it. To....before I could act, his lips were against mine, our bodies pressed together in a frenzy. This was going fast. I internally groaned at the thought of Spencer being right about me. But at the moment, I couldn't give a crap. I moaned lightly, my hand attached to the back of his head. Our tongues collided, mine intertwining with his, tasting every bit of his mouth; he was delicious. "Fuck.." I let slip. I was getting too excited. But he was amazing at this. We fell down on the ground, my body on top of his. Our legs became tangled as I started to rub against his crotch. Damn this felt good. I have never done this with a guy...I could get used to this. I went from his lips to his cheek, moving down to his neck, kissing softly. Brendon grabbed a hold of my back, bucking into my crotch, creating more friction. His smiled wickedly, and flipped me over, this time he was on top of me. Smirking, Brendon grabbed my lips in his again, furiously. He traveled the same path I did with him, from my cheek, down to my neck; but instead of kissing, he bit me. Hard. "Ugghhh, Brendon...." I moaned in pleasure. This felt so fucking good. "Call me Bren, babe," Brendon growled. He was so sexy like this. I smiled, my mouth opening again when Bren's teeth bit down on my skin again. This was definitely going to bruise. I didn't care.

We kissed for what felt like hours. Forgetting that we were outside, we finally disconnected from each others bodies, laying on the grass and leaves, our bodies close together. We looked up at the stars, watching them flicker. I spoke, my voice shaky.

"Bren..." That sounded interesting...but I liked it.

"Yeah," He replied, his voice horse.

"Why are the stars the reason you're here?" Brendon shifted closer to me, his nose touching mine.

"I told you. I'll tell you later." I fluttered my eyes, shutting them and opening them quickly, sighing.

"I like you, you know." I said, finally. I meant it.

"I know." I smiled wide, one side of my face was pressed into the ground.

"Are you free tomorrow? So I can start my final..." Brendon grabbed my hand in his, holding it tight.

"I'm free whenever you need me. I mean it." Blushing, I curled against Brendon, not giving a shit that we were still outside. I felt safe with him.

His hand was in mine again.

That's all I cared about at this point.


	4. The Reason

I remembered dreaming of…nothing; at the beginning, anyway. My mind seemed to be content with itself. The memory of Brendon spun around. No pictures, but I could hear him talking. Brendon’s singing from the other day; the way he laughed, the way he moved…I swore I heard my own heartbeat. Bum. Bum. Bum. Suddenly Brendon’s voice became more…intense. The voice he had when we were kissing replaced his innocent laughter; it was telling me to call him Bren, taking over me, like a hungry, lust filled tiger. The heat of his lips; I could almost feel them crawling on my skin. My hands twitched at the thought; I felt hot. Color broke into my dark reverie, almost as if they were being forced to open. My face stung violently from something that felt like a cool liquid substance.

I could hear Spencer’s yelling, but it was muffled. He sounded like those teachers on Charlie Brown, but his voice wouldn’t stop ‘whop whop whopping’ and my head pounded, struggling to make the rest of my body wake up. I tried to open my eyes, wiping the droplets of water from my face sloppily. My fingers didn’t know how to work. I reached around blindly for Brendon for back-up, but he wasn’t there. He…he left me in the woods? The fucking woods? I could be angry, hell, I was, but not right now….My hand felt empty again.

“What the fuck are you doing out here? I was worried sick!”

My eyes started to adjust, as did my ears. The whopping finally stopped, even though my head still pounded. Spencer was standing over me, his hand reaching towards mine to pull me up. It looked like he had a rough night. There were dark circles under his eyes that made him appear a few years older from exhaustion. His hair was crammed into a winter hat; his cheeks were rosy, but splotched. Spencer’s eyes contained disappointment and worry.

“Sorry mom.” I answered, groggy. I rubbed my neck, taking his hand, wobbling, trying to get my legs to obey my intentions.

Spencer wasn’t amused.

“Quit being a smartass, and answer me.”

“You’re being a bitch.”

Spencer scoffed, folding his arms.

“I’m being a bitch? All I did was ask a question.”

“What if I don’t want to answer?”

“You’re being a stubborn asshole.”

I cleared my throat, the cold air beating against it.

“How did you find me anyway?”

"Instinct."

"What, did you pick up on my scent?"

"Your vanilla deodorant is a huge giveaway."

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't awake enough to deal with this.

"Whatever, Spence. You found me. I'm safe. Great. You can take me back to the dorms now."

I brushed off the leaves that clung to my jacket. My eyes traveled to the ground, watching the copious amounts of leaves and prickers fall from my coat. I glanced at Spencer's feet and noticed that my scarf was on the ground right next to him. Shit. I ran over and grabbed it hastily. I wrapped it around my neck with a sharp movement. I winced in pain, remembering that I had bruises from last night. My hand brushed against them again, softer this time, causing my cheeks to turn a shade of pink. Spencer eyed me suspiciously, his hands balled into furious fists. We started to walk out of the woods, side by side, even though Spencer was trying to avoid me by standing 10 ft away. He walked briskly. After a couple of minutes, he stuffed his hands in his pockets with his lips pursed.

It took me a few seconds to realize how far out we were. Hell, I barely recognized it. I used to come out here during my darker times during freshman year. I was such a fucking drama queen. But, the woods were my sanctuary, and being in them again brought back some memories I've been trying to suppress. But the one of last night played in my mind over the others. The touch, kiss, grind, feel...his hands were skilled. The amount of control he had over me...no one has ever been able to take command of me. My body just, gave into him...Spencer snapped in front of my eyes and guided my body away from a light post.

“Ryan, what the hell happened?" Spencer wouldn't drop it. "You never came home. Even after our fights you end up coming back, even though I didn’t think it was a fight…just, what the hell?”

I huffed out the air, making it seem like smoke was coming from my mouth. Damn, if only I never quit smoking. I could go for a cig right now.

“Fine,” I stuffed my hands into my pockets. I gave in. “I fell asleep on the bench after you left.” I saw Spencer’s nose scrunch, “I woke up, not feeling like going to the dorms, so I went further into the woods.” Spencer’s mouth pierced into what looked like a mix between a frown and a fish face. I attempted to hold in a laugh. The death glare was his response.

“I tripped over someone, and it happened to be Brendon.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in confusion.

“What was Brendon doing in the woods?”

I gritted my teeth.

“He told me he stargazes every Thursday.”

“Really?” Spencer asked, incredulously.

“Apparently.”

Spencer was silent for a couple of minutes, his eyes surveyed my every move. I played with my fingers, trying to simulate some form of handholding. Was I really that pathetic?

“You guys didn’t fuck, did you?”

I nearly choked on the air around me. I pulled nervously at my scarf.

“No we didn’t,” I managed to sputter out.

“The bruises on your neck say otherwise.”

I kept my mouth shut as my face started to burn.

“I saw them when you were lying on the ground.” Spencer’s lips started to play a smirk across them. I knew that look.

“Spencer, we didn’t fuck. We just…fooled around, I guess.” I played with a stray string on the scarf that betrayed me.

“I was right then.”

“Spencer…”

“Admit it. I was right that you move fast. And about your crush.” I was going to kill him. And I fucking could. We’re out in the woods. No one would know.

"I'm not going to admit anything." I looked down at my feet. They were more interesting at the moment.

"Ryan, we've been friends for how long? I think you can tell me. And admit that I was right."

Nothing. I said nothing.

We arrived at the dorms quicker than I thought. I stayed silent until we reached our room. Spencer kept talking to me, trying to get me to say that he was right and that I had sex with Brendon. I had to shut him out somehow. I didn't know how to get rid of him. He was fucking persistant. I told him to give it a rest (more like, I shouted to high heavens) and he just pouted, throwing himself in front of the TV. He mumbled something about me being stupid or along those lines, I couldn't tell. I sighed, shaking my head slightly. I threw myself on my bed, not wanting to move, or to think about the fact that I have to re-do my final, which is going to suck. Everything would be awkward now, since Brendon and I...

"Fuck." I put my pillow over my eyes, trying to shut out any type of light.

We didn't do anything. All we did was roll around in the grass, kissing, pulling, tugging, biting...I have to stop with those thoughts. Damn hormones.

There was a sudden KNOCK that tore me from my sulking. I walked over slowly towards the door, my mind in a completely different place. I opened it to...no one. I looked around the corridor curiously. Fucking rascals. My fingers wrapped around the side of the door. I could feel the peeling paint of the cheep wood grate against my finger tips. It was kind of beautiful in a way. I was talking about the beauty of doors. Now I know I lost my mind. My index finger graced across a piece of paper that was taped to the front. I pondered, looking at it briefly before actually slamming the 'beautiful' door.

The note looked rushed. I could barely read the scrawl that only said one phrase:

meet me in the woods again. -b

I knew who it was. I sure as hell knew who it was.

I didn't feel like going. A huge part of my body wanted to go and see him again, but the rational thinking that I had to a point told me that this guy was, well, weird, and he ditched me in the woods, where I could have been murdered or some shit like that. My body won over my thoughts. I crumpled the note up and tossed it into my wastebasket, getting it in. I did a silent victory dance to myself so I didn't draw Spencer's attention. Not that it mattered. He was immersed in the TV anyway.

I snuck out of the door, grateful that Spencer was out of it, and ran as fast as I could to the woods. My legs decided for me that I wanted to run. My heart was racing too fast for my own good. I almost ran over a few students carrying portfolios. I could only mumble a short 'sorry' over their frustrated cussing before pressing on to meet him. It was broad daylight by the time I arrived. I saw him, looking the opposite direction. We were alone.

He was wearing a light jacket with a scarf that looked like it had seen better days. Brendon turned around when he heard me approach; the damn crunchy leaves gave me away. I was ready to bolt.

He looked tired. His eyes lost their sparkle. His lips were chapped and worn. His hair was messy as it fell upon his exhausted eyes.

"Um. Hi."

"Hi."

We stood there in silence. We didn't move towards each other like last time. It was awkward, and he knew it. We both knew it. The wind brushed the hair out of Brendon's face, revealing his gaunt features even more.

"You look like shit." I decided I'd break the silence for once.

"Thanks. You too." Brendon replied, his voice gritty.

"Hey, you know, thanks a bunch for leaving me in the woods. That was appreciated." Brendon's eyes darkened as they met mine. His mood swings were unbelievable. It was my fault for egging him on, but I needed answers.

Brendon opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. I was pissed.

"Look." My eyes grew darker as well, countering Brendon's hold on me. "I'm not some cheap slut. I have feelings too you know. I thought you actually cared about me. But hell, I guess I was wrong about that."

He didn't even try to respond. I kept going.

"What we did last night...everything about last night, it was great. Fucking great. I hadn't been with anyone that made me feel the way you did. And you have the nerve, the fucking nerve, to leave me? In the damn woods?!" I took a deep breath, "Yeah, okay, we haven't known each other long, but hey, weren't you the one who said that you had a crush on me?" I huffed, waiting for him to interrupt at anytime, but he stood there, silent, taking in my words. At least, I thought he was. I couldn't tell.

"You told me, Brendon. That you have been watching me. I brushed that off, because frankly, it's creepy shit. But I let my feelings get in the way because I like you. I like you too much for my own good, and it's tearing me apart whenever I think of you, and damnit, I don't know what the hell to do..." I was shaking. I had to stop talking. "Say something. Please." I couldn't stand seeing him silent. He had to talk. Say something. Was I overreacting? Who knows.

Brendon drew in some air into his lungs, exhaling slowly. He smacked his lips, and looked me square in the eyes.

"You know why the stars are the reason I'm here?"

I was furious.

"What is with you and those stupid stars? What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with EVERYTHING Ross." Brendon's voice was growing stronger, more commanding and forceful.

"Then please, enlighten me, because you're not making any sense." I could leave. I should of never come. I could have gone on with my life, knowing someone liked me and we had a one night stand. He told me he'd be there for me, but hey, I'm used to be lied to. It's better than nothing.

"Ryan..." Brendon came closer to me. I tried moving away, but I was paralyzed. "Do you remember that piece you painted that won a national award? It was posted all over the internet?" My eyes widened.

"Um..."

"Stars. It was a dark painting, but it had a lot of feeling." He moved closer still, reaching out his hand to touch my cheek lightly. I couldn't react. I let him touch my face. I could feel his rough fingertips reverberate through my paralyzed visage.

"I was surfing the internet, procrastinating, as every senior does at the end of the year. I didn't know where I wanted to go. I had too many things that I loved doing. I almost went to school for cosmetology. I was thinking of music school too." What was going on right now?

"But I saw your painting while looking through art schools and I was set on what I wanted to do....I wanted to meet you, so fucking badly. I wanted to know how someone could paint so well. I wanted to get to your level. So, I enrolled here, and just saying off the bat, I didn't know you went here. I only had the dream of meeting you. I wouldn't stalk you. I'm not a creep." He wiped his brow. "To make a long story short..."

Brendon leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. He had to get on his toes slightly to reach. I still couldn't move.

"The 'stars' are the reason why I'm here. Your painting inspired me to become an artist, Ryan."

Fucking. Hell.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel like a 'slut'. You aren't. I left you in the woods because I'm a fucking coward. Last night was too great, and I felt like you'd wake up and regret doing what we did, even though it wasn't much. Thank god I found Spencer on the way back to my room, and told him where you were."

So much for 'instinct'.

"If you don't want me in your final anymore..." Brendon sighed, "I probably did sound like a damn stalker right there." Brendon smiled small, reaching behind his head to scratch it. "I'll uh...go then." Brendon turned on his heel, leaving me alone again. My mouth was agape. I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to apologize for spazzing at him. I wanted to hold him again and tell him that I didn't care how creepy he was, or I guess, how sweet it was, but it wasn't sweet, was it? It's fucking weird. He's fucking weird. I couldn't deal with it.  
Someone became an artist...because of me? Brendon? What?

I fell onto the leaves, my back screamed in protest. It was too much. This was all too much. I wish I could rewind everything and watch it again because I didn't fucking understand...I don't understand. How could someone, after seeing my shit painting, want to become an artist, because of me? The kid who led a life of near deaths and drama queen suffering? Someone who is no where near inspirational? If I told Spencer this story, I bet he'd laugh until he'd cry.

Brendon's mood swings. His words. His lips...Nothing in this world made sense to me anymore.

Hell, I could repeat myself over and over. My brain filled with 'i don't understand' or 'what the hell'. Things along those lines. I laid in the leaves, not budging.

I still wanted to draw him. I wanted everything to do with him. He didn't backlash at me. Only once. I was surprised at how calm he was. Fuck everything. It was going to be even more awkward than I could have imagined.

I used my fingers to trace the clouds, picturing how I'd want my final to look, and all I saw was Brendon.

I hate him.

But.

I feel like I might lo-

Highly unlikely.

I slapped myself in the head. Fucking no. Stop it.

My hands started to become more interesting by the minute. Hands were interesting to me. They create.

And apparently mine created inspiration?

No matter how many times I repeated Brendon's words in my head, they meshed together and my brain refused to believe any of it. It didn't believe it.

I don't think I'll ever understand.

I got up from the leaves and headed back to the dorms. I have to find my 'model.'

I've got a fucking final to do, and damnit I'm going to get it done.


	5. I Admit It

As much as I wanted to go bolting after Brendon in an attempt to draw him again, my legs could only carry me as far as my dorm room. I was the coward: I was the jerk in the situation. I didn’t know how to react to anything anymore. This whole escapade made my brain hurt and all I wanted to do was lay down in my dorm room on my worn spring bed that hurt like hell to sleep on but hey, it was a bed.

Spencer wasn’t in the room when I came back. He was probably in the sculpture building again. I just shrugged slightly, enjoying the few moments of silence, even though I hate being left alone with my mind these days. All it has done is get me in trouble. I was so close to throwing in the towel, proclaiming to myself that I was fucking done and I didn’t want anything to do with Brendon. I should just hand in my final that I already made because at this point my artist’s block has turned solely into lack of motivation and by that point, an artist knows that they need an extra push, but what if I didn’t want it?  
I heard knocking at the door, but I chose to ignore it. If it was Spencer he could let himself in. He had his own damn key. I didn’t want to move from my spot because, sincerely, I was too comfortable as much as my mind wanted to make everything otherwise.

“Ryan, open the door.”

The voice on the other side was one I didn’t want to hear at the moment. I found my headphones sitting on my small nightstand and plugged in, drowning out the knock with The Beatles. It’s been a hard days night…you don’t know the half of it.

A muffled voice tried to make its way into my headphones, but I simply refused to let it get to me. The knocking subsided finally and I took the headphones out. Do I dare go to the door? I don’t feel like it. Hell, I don’t want to go to the door because he will be there, but the want in my body and the contradictions swimming around in my head made me commit otherwise, and I cursed at my stupid mind and body for making me want to actually answer the devil door. What am I doing?

Slowly, I grunted as I supported my body weight somewhat and crawled up from the mattress, the springs creaking underneath the pressure. I sprinted towards the door and opened it with full force and lo and behold, a tearstained Brendon was rapping at my chamber door.

“What.” It came out colder than I thought, but I felt like he deserved that type of reaction, even though he didn’t do anything wrong. No, he did do something wrong. No he didn’t. Damnit, my brain needs to take a vacation. I crossed my arms across my chest because I didn’t want to appear vulnerable.

“I want you to listen to me. What I said in the forest was honest to god—“

“Brendon, I don’t want to deal with you right now.” I stated matter of fact, hoping that he would get the message to leave me the fuck alone.

“RYAN.” A tear moved its way down Brendon’s cheek with the outburst. I have never heard this type of tone come from Brendon, and it honestly took me aback so much that I was reduced to silence and incomprehensible silent babbling. “Please. Listen to me…” He took a deep breath, which I didn’t understand why he needed to until those three words I dreaded hearing were spoken with his lips.” I love you okay?”

Stab me in the heart why don’t you?

“No you don’t Brendon.“

You don’t. You can’t. You wouldn’t want to love someone like me.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“You don’t know me.” I sighed deeply, rolling my eyes. I sounded so cliché: I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Yes, I do.”

“This is ridiculous.” The color in Brendon’s face faded at my words, which I wish I could suddenly take back, but too bad, they’ve already escaped my poison lips.

Shit.

“So, I’m being ridiculous?”

“Uh, yeah, you are.” I kept my arms folded to make sure I was guarded, which I really didn’t need to be, but at the same time my brain was sending off signals every which way, so my arms found home in intertwining with each other as a shield. “I don’t understand how a painting I did in High School was the only inspiration for you to become an artist? You’ve met me, you only know me from my painting and from the couple of meetings that we’ve had, but that’s it. You can’t fall that hard that fast…” I realized that I was contradicting myself because I knew that the feelings that I had for Brendon were ones that I didn’t quite understand, but they were infatuation, I knew that for a fact, and I was basically digging a grave for myself at this point because Brendon looked like he was going to kill me.

“Ryan, you’ve got to start believing in yourself more.” Brendon muttered, licking his lips. I could see Spencer walking down the hallway towards the room, but upon seeing Brendon at the door he turned on his heel and walked the opposite direction. It was almost comical, but I had to focus on the matter at hand, as much as I didn’t want to. It was trivial shit that I didn’t need to deal with.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" I asked, my mind reeling and my body making up its mind finally, wanting to go back to bed and drown in the Beatles once again. Brendon slammed his fist against the doorframe.

"It has to do with everything," He growled, his expression stiffening but then softening in a matter of seconds. It seems as if he couldn't stay mad at me very long. I tried to back away, tried to get him out of my life because I couldn't take anymore of this feelings crap. My stomach growled with nervousness and anxiety.

"Can you stop being so fucking cryptic and philosophical about everything?" I breathed out, noticing Brendon inched closer to me, cautiously at first not knowing the boundaries between us, because I hoped he could tell that I was still pissed at him. But closer and closer he got to me, the more my mind wanted to give into him. Brendon was someone who changed my life in a matter of days, and hell, I was falling for him whether I liked it or not.

"No," Brendon whispered simply, his face still stained from his tears, but his lips were inches away from mine. I could feel his breath, which sent shivers down my spine. I felt paralyzed, unable to move from my position and at the same time: I didn't know if I wanted to move away.

"Why me, Brendon?" I asked, knowing that I should probably shut up, but I needed to know ultimately why in the hell someone was coming after me of all people.

"Because," Brendon rested his hand on my cheek, his expression longing, "I fell in love with your painting."

My heart sank a little, but in a matter of seconds Brendon's lips were against mine, our bodies moved together like hungry tigers. I grabbed onto his waist and pulled him into my room, slamming the door behind us. His lips tasted so fucking good: they were as plump and wonderful as I depicted them in my painting. We had kissed before but this seemed different. "Shit," I let slip out as he began to intertwine our tongues together again. I moaned lightly when we fell onto my bed, our bodies almost meshing together, becoming one, moving in rhythm of pleasure and pain. My heart screamed. My mind protested. My body acted. His hand kept caressing my cheek. I loved his hands, his rough artists hands, the ones that have toiled and worked for everything they've created. My fingers laced themselves together as if they were holding onto Brendon for dear life. I don't understand why, but as we were kissing, I began to cry. I couldn't bring myself to find a reason for it right away, but I fucking began to cry. Brendon stopped kissing me, however, he kept his leg intertwined with mine. His face had a concerned expression along with his lust and want.

"What's wrong, babe?" He asked, wiping away my tears carefully.

"I..." couldn't explain it. I ignored the 'babe' comment, because that was too much for me to handle at the moment. I brought my head to rest in the crane of Brendon's neck, nuzzling into his body heat. My tears fell onto his collarbone; I noticed the salty substance trickle into his shirt. Biting my lip, I attempted to have an excuse. "Damnit." I couldn't see Brendon's expression, but by the way he hugged me tighter, kissed the top of my head, it was reassurance that I needed. "You suck." I mumbled, bringing myself to face him again. I smiled a little, the tears subsiding. "You made me fall for you, dork." Brendon's smile couldn't of gotten any more wide than it did. Our lips were brought together again, my tears never stopped. I haven't cried in years. Everything was coming out at once: frustrations over my final, frustrations over Brendon, frustrations over life: all of it escaped as I was kissing the person who changed me.

"Hm," I moaned, bringing my hands up into his shirt, feeling his chest. I was too afraid to tell him that he was beautiful. That he was someone who I never thought would ever come after me because of... my poet self wrapped around my brain. I didn't know if I could admit love other than 'I'm fell for you.' Isn't that the same thing? My lips grew tired from kissing him, even though I didn't want to stop. I wanted to know Brendon in his entirety, body and soul. I decided that I should pluck up the courage and just fucking say it, not caring about anything anymore. "You're beautiful," I manage to spit out under my breath.

"I am?" Brendon seemed to be shocked at this, even though his visage managed to stay mostly coy.

"Yeah," I spoke, whispering, "Everything about you, Brendon. You...made me believe that I'm actually worth something," I choked, not believing the drivel I was saying, but in my heart I knew that I meant it. "You inspire me." Brendon swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. He was speechless. I must have said something wrong. Shit. But what I said were compliments, and I hoped he knew that. The last thought in my head screamed and fought its way out, trying to get past my lips. I didn't want it to win but I'm throwing everything out the open at this point. "I love you."

Brendon still remained speechless, his arms wrapped around my waist. I removed myself from sight, putting my head back into his neck, breathing steadily. I almost drifted off to sleep.

"I don't think you know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that," Brendon said, his tone almost victorious, but it was sincere.

"I can tell you that everyday if you want me to," I offered, knowing that at this point it was useless to fight. He won me over.

"You don't have to babe." He said babe again. I think I could get used to hearing that.

KNOCK KNOCK

"Yeah?" I yell, forgetting my face was near Brendon's ear. I sent him a whispered sorry before getting up, groaning that I had to leave Brendon. I looked back at him. He began to play with his fingers, watching them intently like they were actually entertaining. I opened the door sleepily to Spencer, who looked exhausted, a little disheveled. "What's up, Spence?" I asked innocently.

"Lost my key," He said, yawning.

"Again? You know you'll have to pay for it?"

"Shut up." He gave me a 'I hate you' look. I was used to those.

"So, what do you want?" I asked, forgetting for a second that Spencer was my roommate.

"Last time I checked, I live here."

I blushed heavily at the realization. Spencer looked over my shoulder to see kid Brendon playing with his fingers. "But, if you guys need the room I can go back to the sculpture building." He smiled at me with his tired eyes.

I gave him a grateful glance, biting my lip.

"All right. Let me get my stuff." Spencer stepped into the door, nodding at Brendon. He grabbed his blanket and pillow, along with his gameboy.

"Really?" I shook my head, smiling.

"Hey, I need something other than plaster to keep myself entertained."

"You're the best, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah." Spencer pat me on the back, leaving the room swiftly. I groaned audibly and sauntered over to the bed again, throwing myself on Brendon.

"Hey!" He screamed, tickling my sides. The springs on the bed screamed as our weight thrashed around.

"Damnit." I cursed, retaliating, but laughing too hard to really make an impact on the other boy. "You...suck..." Brendon giggled, making my insides do a backflip. Tired from laughing too hard, from tonight, from everything, I kissed him again, this time softer, but his lips were irresistible and I hated it. Brendon kissed back with a little more vigor, his lips felt like they were trying to capture mine, making them his forever. I wouldn't mind that. I broke away for a second, studying him. "I still have one more day to finish my final..."

Brendon smiled, groaning. "You work too hard," he commented, "But...I would be honored if I can be your model again." I hit him on the head playfully.

"You're such a dork."

"Proud of it."

Lips pressed together again, the world was spinning, but my mind spun faster. I tried to comprehend what was happening, everything that I knew about myself...was gone. Brendon...his name. Him. We finally stopped kissing each other, noticing the time. It was almost midnight. I kept my arms wrapped around him, feeling content and confused, but mostly happy. (and this was a first.)

"Night, Bren." Brendon brought his leg to intertwine with mine again.

"Night, Ry."

Ry.

Babe.

We drifted off to sleep together. I could feel Brendon's chest rise and fall. The clock ticked, the wind bashed against the window, but the only sound I was concentrating on was Brendon's breathing. It was soothing, helping me drift off into a sleep that I wasn't used to: a peaceful one.

I didn't understand how something could have gone right in my life, but I wasn't going to fight against it.

Love is interesting. I found it in the most unusual place. I never want to let go of him.

I hoped that I wake up tomorrow in the same position.


End file.
